Page 4 of For Eva

She wiggled out of his grip and leaned back against the bar, the smile she’d been holding in forcing its way to the surface. “Eva, this is Matt, a seven- or eight-time poor decision. Matt, this is Eva, my best friend.”

Matt nodded as we exchanged nice-to-meet-yous. He was good-looking, with messy shoulder-length blond hair. His black jeans and Sex Pistols T-shirt made himlooklike a rock star, but since Denise hadn’t mentioned him even once, I placed him squarely in the wannabe category.

“What are you drinking, ladies?” he asked, reaching for his wallet.

Denise pressed her hand against her chest and gasped. “What’s this? You havemoney?”

He tipped his head back and laughed slowly, pronouncing eachhawith sarcastic clarity. “You know what, evil woman? Wedooccasionally sell tickets to our shows. Or actually, maybe you don’t know since you never come to any.”

“Yeah,” she began, sucking in air through her teeth. “That all feels a bit too girlfriend-y. Let’s just stick with the occasional drunken hookup ending with me telling you that’s the last time and kinda sorta not really meaning it.”

“Fine. But you’re going to regret this when I’m headed off for our world tour on a private jet that’s crawling with half-naked chicks who are dying to make me their next ‘poor decision.’”

A laugh that sounded like a sputtering car engine escaped my lips, causing Matt to turn his attention to me. “Eva, right? You’re hot. What’s your deal? And why have I never met you?”

Denise slapped his arm. “You haven’t met her because I don’t introduce you to my friends. Regardless, she doesn’t even live here, and she’s not gonna fucking sleep with you, you idiot.”

I flashed a wide grin and shook my head. “She’s right, I’m not. But buy me a drink, and I’ll see if I can convince Denise to go for drunken hookup number eight—or is it nine—tonight.”

He gestured to the bottles lined up behind the bar. “I like you, Eva. Get whatever you want. And I guess you can, too, Denise.” He winked at her, and she fixed her gaze on him, a sexy smile that straddled the line between fuckoffand fuckmedancing on her lips.

Matt’s eyes remained on Denise as he mumbled “Jack and Coke” and handed me a twenty. I leaned against the counter, trying not to elbow the surly-looking biker beside me as I signaled for a bartender’s attention. By the time the drinks were mixed, I was pinned in by the crowd, able to twist ever so slightly to hand Matt and Denise their glasses.

Matt called my name above the guitar solo screeching through the speakers just as I was finally able to break free and turn around with my vodka cran clasped in my hand. “Hey, Eva, I want you to meet my friend. This is—”

Someone squeezed in between me and the bar, and I suddenly found myself flattened against the person standing in front of me. My drink sloshed over the glass, splashing us both with pink liquid.

“Dude, what the fuck was tha—” I stopped midsentence and raised my eyes from the cranberry stains on my white tank top to see whose chest was pressed against mine. And then the room went quiet. I could no longer hear the music or the crowd, just a high-pitched hum that clogged my ears and scrambled my brain,making me feel for a moment like the floor might fall out from under me. I tried to speak, but after several attempts I realized I couldn’t combine consonants and vowels to form any intelligible words.

Except one.

“Danny?”

THREE

Danny

January 1988

Eva?

Her name caught in my throat. Or did it? I wasn’t sure, but the way she stared at me with those soft brown eyes told me that even if I had managed to speak, she hadn’t heard me.

Memories I’d forced to the back of my mind surged forward—the very same ones that sometimes grew so strong they caused the wall I’d built betweenbeforeandafterto crack. Until that moment, I’d always found ways to fill those cracks. By landing gigs at clubs I’d only ever dreamed of playing. By going home from those gigs with chicks who were up for all kinds of crazy shit I’d only ever imagined. By reminding myself the life I was living wouldn't have been possible if I hadn't walked away from her.

But standing there, face-to-face with the person at the center of each of those memories, I knew the dam had burst. And it was going to take me turning and running out of that bar as fast as I fucking could to even have the slightest chance in hell of rebuilding it.

The strange thing was, I didn’t know if I wanted to. I also didn’t know what the odds were that if I stayed, I’d end up getting punched in the face. But I took a chance, leaned over her shoulder, and put my lips to her ear.

“Is this when I’m supposed to say that line about you walking into my gin joint?” Her hair smelled like vanilla, making me forget I was standing in the middle of a bar in West Hollywood rather than her parents’ basement in Illinois.

Her cheek brushed against mine. “Is this whenI’msupposed to say that you semi-remembering a quote fromCasablancais impressive enough that I’ve decided not to ask the Hells Angels-looking guy behind me to beat the shit out of you?”

I shifted my gaze to the man at the bar who was wearing a leather vest that strained across his back. “This is definitely when you’re supposed to say that.”

“Consider yourself safe then…for now.” Her voice landed somewhere between sweet and sour, purposefully leaving me hanging.

I was still pressed against her, afraid to pull away and find out the smile I imagined on her face wasn’t there, when something jabbed my arm. I turned to see the girl I’d just met standing beside me, her head cocked, eyes shifting between me and Eva.

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